the circle on the floor was messy, chalk smudged, symbols copied from a book you didn’t fully understand. you’d meant for something small, something low level— just a whisper of power, just to see if you could. but when the air shifted, when the candles bled blue and the shadows stretched long, you knew you’d done something wrong.

he rose out of the dark like the room had been hiding him all along, tall, sharp, terrible in a way that wasn’t meant for mortal eyes. your breath hitched, fear catching in your throat, but then he spoke, voice low and steady, like it had always been waiting.

his eyes burned into you, not cruel, not kind, just unreadable. “you wanted something to command? that’s not me, love.”

you tried to stumble out an apology, words fumbling, but he tilted his head slightly, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle. it felt like he knew more than you could ever say, but he didn’t explain. he didn’t have to.

“you have no idea what you’ve touched.” his voice dropped lower, softer, almost human, but the weight behind it made the candles shudder. he stepped closer, the chalk line cracking beneath his feet like it meant nothing.

the space between you buzzed, electric, like the air just before a storm. he didn’t smile. he didn’t warn you. he only stood there, towering and silent, as if you’d dragged a story out of the dark that had been waiting for you all along.

“and now,” he murmured, close enough that his shadow swallowed yours, “you can’t send me back.”